4of1 The Morning After
by Margaret Price
Summary: After wallowing in self pity and drowning his sorrows, the Ninth Doctor wakes up in…well, read it and find out. A continuation of the silliness that is the "New Doctor on the Block" series, apparently.


The Morning After © 2005 Margaret Price

Author's Note: First there was "New Doctor on the Block." A simple bit of silliness that came to me one evening. This was followed by, "Not The New Doctor on the Block." More silliness, because I couldn't leave well enough alone. Then Gary Merchant asked about Doctors 1-3 and "Not Even Close to the New Doctor on the Block" was born, mocking and lampooning its way into this universe.

Now, thanks to Mouth On Legs, I have been inspired to continue this ridiculous series of events further. As the title suggests, we have moved on to the next day.

As before, I ask that you **do not** give away the ending. Also as before, your derisive reviews are welcome.

Yes, I am twisted, but this time I had help. Thank you to my son and fellow Whovian, Jim, for his collaboration, beta reading, and additional silliness.

* * *

**THE MORNING AFTER**

The room was bright. Very bright. _Sunshine. Daylight._ _Focus, Doctor._ _Hells bells, was it morning?_ The Ninth Doctor ventured a peek, opening his eyes just a crack, only to close them again, a low groan escaping him.

"So, you're awake finally, are you?" a disapproving voice said sharply.

"Would you mind not shouting at me," the Ninth Doctor said groggily. He struggled to open his eyes again, holding a hand up to shield them from the glare. Was there a spotlight on him? No, it was just the sun.

"You realize it's past noon," the voice informed, the disapproving tone sharpening further. The owner of the voice pulled the curtains closed, allowing the Ninth Doctor to focus more fully. He made a quick visual sweep of his surroundings. He was in a hotel room…no, a suite by the looks of it. At least two bedrooms. Not bad. He returned his attention to the man across the room. "Oh, it's you," he moaned.

"Yes, it's me," the First Doctor replied. "Quite a display you put on last night."

"Was it? I don't really remember just now." The Ninth Doctor struggled to a sitting position, discovering, with a bit of a jolt, that he was wearing the Sixth Doctor's coat and nothing else. For reasons he was sure had been valid in a drunken stupor, there was a stalk of celery pinned to the lapel. The Fourth Doctor's scarf was flung over the back of the sofa on which he had been…well, sprawled.

Not wanting to contemplate the full meaning of any of this, he staggered to the toilet to take care of business, following a trail of clothing from his previous incarnations the whole way there. _Terrific. I'm at a weak point, looking for support and they do this to me._

He returned to the main room where the First Doctor was patiently waiting for him.

"Alright. What did you lot do to me last night?" he demanded in as forceful a tone as he could manage. "Where the hell am I?"

"You are exactly were you asked to be," came the vague reply. "And we did nothing to you. _You,_ on the other hand, have become the poster boy for the "Just say No' campaign."

"What are you—?" The Ninth Doctor broke off and cursed as he stubbed his toe on something cold, metallic, and painfully hard. He picked up the offending object, discovering it to be a hookah. "Cash and carry, Constantinople," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Oh, no…"

"Oh, yes."

"We're in Constantinople?"

"Goodness me, no. We're in Baltimore."

"Baltimore?" The Ninth Doctor blinked. _Fantastic. That makes it worse. They took all my clothes and left me in Baltimore._ "Baltimore, Maryland?" he then asked. "U.S.A., Baltimore?"

"Yes…" came the patient reply. "That _is_ where you wanted to go."

"Why?"

Before the First Doctor could reply, the door to the second bedroom opened and a woman appeared. She was wearing only a bathrobe and was toweling her hair off. "So, he's finally up, is he?" she observed.

The instant he heard her voice, the Ninth Doctor stiffened visibly, a loud squeak escaping him. "No. It can't be... Not—"

Tegan pulled the towel off her head and smiled, looking the Ninth Doctor up and down. He was still wearing only the patchwork coat, which was hanging open leaving nothing to the imagination. She gave the First Doctor a knowing look before turning back, nodding to the horrified Ninth Doctor's abundant assets. "Sorry about the lipstick, Doc," she said unapologetically.

The Ninth Doctor looked down, seeing lipstick in places the manufacturer never intended.

"Like I told you. I'm just a mouth on legs."


End file.
